Children of Chance
by nycny12
Summary: The 74th Hunger Games: Peeta stopped Katniss from volunteering for Prim, and as a result, Prim goes into the Games. Meanwhile, Katniss's relationships with Peeta and Gale develop back in District 12.
1. Chapter 1

****As you all know, The Hunger Games were written by Suzanne Collins, obviously. Everything except the characters, quotes, and story background are our original ideas. This fanfic is being co-written by two people, TheColorIsPurple and pineapplegrl77.  
>Hope you enjoy and don't forget to REVIEW  ALERT / FAVORITE if you do! ****

**Katniss:**  
>When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold. My fingers stretch out, seeking Prim's warmth but finding only the rough canvas cover of the mattress. She must have had bad dreams and climbed in with our mother. Of course she did. This is the day of the reaping.<p>

I swing my legs off the bed and slide into my hunting boots. Supple leather that has molded to my feet. I pull on trousers, a shirt, tuck my long dark braid up into a cap, and grab my forage bag. On the table, under a wooden bowl to protect it from hungry rats and cats alike, sits a perfect little goat cheese wrapped in basil leaves. Prim's gift to me on reaping day. I put the cheese carefully in my pocket as I slip outside.

As soon as I'm in the trees, I retrieve a bow and sheath of arrows from a hollow log.

In the woods waits the only person with whom I can be myself. Gale. I can feel the muscles in my face relaxing, my pace quickening as I climb the hills to our place, a rock ledge overlooking a valley. A thicket of berry bushes protects it from unwanted eyes. The sight of him waiting there brings on a smile. Gale says I never smile except in the woods.

**Gale:**  
>Just the thought of the Reaping sends panic shooting through me. I've taken tesserae every year since I was twelve, that's a total of 42 entries. But I have to stay calm, or my siblings will mimic me. And we can't have that happen. But it's still early, so I decide I might as well get some hunting in. All the shops are closed, windows to houses shuttered. If we could protect ourselves by hiding, then no kids would ever die. But we can't. And so they just keep dying.<p>

I enter the woods and retrieve a bow from our hiding place in the woods. It took Katniss years to trust me enough to give me one. That's one of the reason why I like her. She doesn't trust people, and for good reasons. Anything you say can be heard anywhere and be reported. The only place we can really talk freely is in the woods. In that way we're almost fortunate.

Not twenty paces into the woods, I see a squirrel. It's an easy shot and I take it down with almost no effort. Katniss is by far the better shooter, I think, as I examine the body. It was a shot through the head, not through the eye like she seems to be able to do automatically.

I glance around, and see the sun has just started to rise, and I get an idea. I pass the fence and then the Seam, enter town, and head straight for the baker's. It's a long shot that he'll even be up, rich people like them don't need to hunt for their food. But when I pass their window, I see Mr. Mellark's burly outline against the big oven that makes up the back wall of the shop. Knocking lightly, I step in.

"Hello, Gale," he says pleasantly, "You're up early."

"Yeah, just doing some hunting," I say absentmindedly. We talk for a while and then I make the trade.

I quickly head back to our meeting place, afraid of making her wait, a broad smile growing on my face as I think of what I'll say. I peek out from between the trees and see her crouching.

"Hey Catnip, look what I shot," I say, coming up on her from behind. I hold up the loaf of bread with the arrow stuck in it, and hear her laugh. She grabs the loaf, pulls out the arrow, and holds the puncture in the crust to her nose. While she's doing that I have the rare opportunity to study her closely. Her hair is up in her usual braid, pulling her hair away from her face. I've never seen her with her hair down, but I like to imagine that maybe it's about halfway down her back and a little wavy from braiding it everyday. Almond-shaped gray eyes reflect the sunlight streaming down between the trees, and her skin almost seems to glow in the muted light. She's relaxed, something I never see except when we're in the woods alone.

"Mm, still warm," she says, practically giddy. "What did it cost you?"

"Just a squirrel. Think the old man was feeling sentimental this morning," I say. "Even wished me luck."

"Well, we all feel a little closer today, don't we?" she says, not even bothering to roll her eyes. "Prim left us a cheese." She pulls it out from her foraging bag.

My expression brightens at the treat. "Thank you, Prim. We'll have a real feast."

"I almost forgot! Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds—" I say with as much verve as I can muster as I toss a berry in a high arc towards her.

She catches it in her mouth and breaks the delicate skin with her teeth. I bite down on my share of the berries and the sweet tartness explodes across my tongue. "— be ever in your favor!" she finishes with equal verve.

We have to joke about it because the alternative is to be scared out of your wits. Besides, the Capitol accent is so affected, almost anything sounds funny in it.

I spread the bread slices with the soft goat cheese, carefully placing a basil leaf on each while I strip the bushes of their berries. We settle back in a nook in the rocks. From this place, we are invisible but have a clear view of the valley, which is teeming with summer life. The day is glorious, with a blue sky and soft breeze, which makes the food all the more wonderful. Everything would be perfect if this really was a holiday, if the entire day off meant I could be roaming the mountains with Katniss, hunting for tonight's supper. But instead we have to be standing in the square at two o'clock waiting for the names to be called out.

But then I start to actually think about the Games—the pointlessness, the hopeless odds and cruelty, and I can't help but get angry. The gears start to turn in my head and before I can stop myself I say, "We could do it, you know,"

"What?" Katniss asks. Sometimes she frustrates me so much. I know she hates life in Twelve, but she doesn't seem to want to do anything about it. When I get angry and yell in the woods, she just listens and doesn't say a word.

"Leave the district. Run off. Live in the woods. You and I, we could make it," I say quietly. Now the words have left my mouth, and there's no calling them back. I can tell I've stunned her, so I quickly add, "If we didn't have so many kids." Vicky, Rory, Posy and Prim. And you may as well throw in our mothers, too, because how would they live without us? Who would fill those mouths that are always asking for more? With both of us hunting daily, there are still nights when game has to be swapped for lard or shoelaces or wool, still nights when we go to bed with our stomachs growling.

"I never want to have kids," she says.

"I might. If I didn't live here," I say, not saying who I would want to have them with.

"But you do," she says, clearly irritated.

"Forget it," I snap back. Why can she never see how easy it would be without all this. The Capitol, the Peacekeepers, the starvation and the poverty, none of that exists in the woods. The conversation grinds to a halt and soon we changed topics and finished lunch.

We make out well. The predators ignore us on a day when easier, tastier prey abounds. By late morning, we have a dozen fish, a bag of greens and, best of all, a gallon of strawberries. I found the patch a few years ago, but I had the idea to string mesh nets around it to keep out the animals.

On the way home, we swing by the Hob, the black market that operates in an abandoned warehouse that once held coal. When we finish our business at the market, we go to the back door of the mayor's house to sell half the strawberries, knowing he has a particular fondness for them and can afford our price.

The mayor's daughter, Madge, opens the door. I think she's in Katniss's year at school. Today her drab school outfit has been replaced by an expensive white dress, and her blonde hair is done up with a pink ribbon. Reaping clothes.

"Pretty dress." I give the compliment reluctantly. It is a pretty dress, but also ridiculously luxurious. She would never be wearing it ordinarilyI think of the hand-me-downs and repaired-time-and-time-again clothes the other kids would wear compared to her fine raminent.  
>Madge shoots me a look, trying to see if it's a genuine compliment or if I'm just being ironic. She presses her lips together and then smiles. "Well, if I end up going to the Capitol, I want to look nice, don't I?"<p>

Now I'm confused. Does she mean it? Or is she messing with me? I'm guessing the second. She could actually mean in though, I don't really know. But for some raeson her comment just ticks me

"You won't be going to the Capitol," I say coolly. My eyes land on a small, circular pin that adorns her dress. Real gold. Beautifully crafted. It could keep a family in bread for months. "What can you have? Five entries? I had six when I was just twelve years old."

"That's not her fault," Katniss says, always sticking up for people at the worst possible times. Not that Madge needs to be stuck up for..

"No, it's no one's fault. Just the way it is," I say, struggling not to start screaming. Madge's face has become closed off. She puts the money for the berries in her hand. "Good luck, Katniss."

"You, too," she says, and the door closes.

We walk toward the Seam in silence. I know Katniss is mad at me, and I know its not Madge's fault that she most likely will never go into the Games, know what hunger and desperation feel like. And even though the rules were set up by the Capitol, not the districts, certainly not Madge's family, it's hard not to resent those who don't have to sign up for tesserae.

The tesserae are just another tool to cause misery in our district. A way to plant hatred between the starving workers of the Seam and those who can generally count on supper and thereby ensure we will never trust one another. Katniss thinks my rants are pointless, maybe they are. But someday, they may be useful, someday we may be able to do something about our lives.

We divide our spoils, leaving two fish, a couple of loaves of good bread, greens, a quart of strawberries, salt, paraffin, and a bit of money for each.

"See you in the square," She says.

"Wear something pretty," I say flatly.

**Prim:**  
>I'm trembling and I need to stop. It's half from excitement, but Katniss will misinterpret and start scowling at the world for making me nervous. I pace around the edges of our small room with Buttercup yowling at my heels, demanding attention. Katniss will be here any moment, fresh with her game and trade from the Hob. I take a stuttering breath, my hands shaking a little. This will be my first reaping. I'm not worried about being picked, not at all, but I'm worried for Katniss and Gale and all the others. This will be the first time I am not just sitting with the adults and the children who are too young. This time I am not just the audience.<p>

The door creaks open and I whirl around. It's Katniss, her eyes lighted up with that thrill she always returns with after a good hunt with Gale. She totes a softly bulging bag behind her and immediately my mouth starts to salivate, thinking of how long it's been since we've had a good meat stew.

She sees me and smiles. I smile back and twirl for her, me in my new ruffled blouse and skirt. They're really hers, from her first Reaping, but they fit me well enough. Mother has fastened it with pins, so no loose folds are flapping, or so I hope. At the very least the pins will hold for an hour.

I see Katniss's eyes begin to darken at the thought of today's Reaping and I push her towards the tub, the bathwater still warm from the fire. I sit close by as she scrubs herself, and make faces at her and laugh when she dunks her head down into the water. When she is done, Mother comes into the room and holds out one of her old blue dresses with a timid smile.

I dance around her, delighted with the outfit, and hold out the accompanying shoes. "Look, Katniss! They're practically new and you'll look so pretty!"

Katniss holds back from Mother's offering. "Are you sure?" I nudge Katniss's back not-so-casually and she relents, taking the dress from Mother's waiting hands.

Mother replies, "Let's put your hair up, too." I help her towel-dry Katniss's beautiful black hair and watch intently as Mother deftly braids it with her signature style. When she's finished, I turn Katniss's head towards our cracked mirror.

"You look beautiful," I say in a hushed voice.

"And nothing like myself," she laughs. She hugs me tightly and I know she's scared for me. I squeeze back but my nerves rush back all of a sudden and I feel tiny, so frightened and small. I knew I should be worrying for myself, but that was so silly with Katniss right next to me, with her four years' worth of tesserae and annual slips. It all adds up to 20 slips. Those slips have kept my family alive and I'm grateful for them, but I hate them at this moment. I hate them for giving away Katniss at such a deadly moment. They cause her vulnerability to the Capitol, when by all rights she should be and is a fearless person.

She pulls away from the hug after a while and leans back to get a good look at me. "Tuck your tail in, little duck," she says, and smooths my blouse. I quack softly and we grin together. Katniss replies with another quack and she laughs, that carefree whisper of a giggle that only I can get from her.

Mother has prepared the fish and greens, already cooking in a stew, but that will be for supper. We decide to save the strawberries and bakery bread for this evening's meal, to make it special, we say.

Instead we drink the sweet milk from Lady, and eat the rough bread made from the tesserae grain, although no one has much appetite anyway. The next few hours are spent avoiding each others' gazes but huddled close together anyway, for warmth and for comfort and for the reminder of each others' presences.

One o'clock finally rolls around and Katniss is the first to stand from our pod of four, including Buttercup, who is sprawled on my lap. She straightens her dress and looks back at us. There might be tears in her eyes but I'm not sure. I take a deep breath and stand on unsteady legs, suddenly barely able to support Buttercup's weight in my arms. We help Mother up and we walk out of the house, closing the door securely. You never lock things in District Twelve. There's barely anything worth locking, anyways.

I try to slyly sneak my hand into Katniss's for support, and to my surprise, she squeezes back, harder. With my other hand, I reach for Mother's and we walk down the street together, an unbreakable chain of three.

It's too bad, really, that they hold the reaping in the square — one of the few places in District 12 that can be pleasant. You can smell the bakery from anywhere in the square and it's always comforting to know that food does exist even when people are starving. The beautifully frosted cakes in the bakery window almost seem like an art display and I love them. The square's surrounded by shops, and on public market days, especially if there's good weather, it has a holiday feel to it.

But today, despite the bright banners hanging on the buildings, there's an air of grimness. The camera crews, perched like buzzards on rooftops, only add to the effect.

**Peeta: **  
>"Father! Mother! I'm going ahead!" I call into the shop. The ovens are cool and the air holds only the slightest hint of pastries. Today is the one day that everyone gets a vacation and it has to be the Reaping. I grit my teeth and shove my hands into my trousers pockets and walk out the doors. I turn left and the square is before me, the only sign of color in the entire district, except maybe for the Victors' Village. Everything else is covered with hints of coal dust, as always.<p>

People file in silently and sign in. The reaping is a good opportunity for the Capitol to keep tabs on the population as well. Twelve- through eighteen-year-olds are herded into roped areas marked off by ages, the oldest in the front, the young ones toward the back. Family members line up around the perimeter, holding tightly to one another's hands. But there are others, too, who have no one they love at stake, or who no longer care, who slip among the crowd, taking bets on the two kids whose names will be drawn. Odds are given on their ages, whether they're Seam or merchant, if they will break down and weep. Most refuse dealing with the racketeers but carefully, carefully. These same people tend to be informers, and who hasn't broken the law?

I walk silently past those people, heads down, not making eye contact. If I do look up, they'll start judging me—how healthy I look, if my facial features are good, if I might be one of those with countless slips in the ball, if my _odds_are good. But its all up to chance. That's all we are, children of chance.

I nod to a few classmates, wave to some friends, and make my way to the cluster of 16-year-olds two rows from the front of the stage. We're sectioned off by a worn clump of braided cloth meant to act as a rope and I grimace, as I do every year, at the obvious sign of our poverty even at such a "festive" event as this once.

The space gets tighter, more claustrophobic as people arrive. The square's quite large, but not enough to hold District 12's population of about eight thousand. Latecomers are directed to the adjacent streets, where they can watch the event on screens as it's televised live by the state.

We all exchange terse nods then focus our attention on the temporary stage that is set up before the Justice Building. It holds three chairs, a podium, and two large glass balls, one for the boys and one for the girls. I stare at the paper slips in the boys' ball. Only five of them have Peeta Mellark written on them in careful handwriting, but at the moment, that's five too many. I wring my hands in building tension.

Two of the three chairs fill with Madge's father, Mayor Undersee, a tall, balding man, and Effie Trinket, District 12's escort, fresh from the Capitol with her scary white grin, pink hair, and spring green suit. They murmur to each other and then look with concern at the empty seat.

The town clock strikes two, and the entire audience jumps. The mayor steps up to the podium and begins to read. It's the same story every year.

I fidget more. By now, almost the entire audience is on their toes, looking as if they were facing a bed of burning coals they had to walk over. Except for the gamblers and the bidders. They have an eager look on, a disgusting twist of their bedraggled faces that I want to punch off. Almost as a habit, I search the crowd for her, in this moment of unease I look for her dark hair and gray eyes that aways brought me comfort, or at the very least, reassurance that she was there.

"It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks," intones the mayor.

**Katniss:**  
>Haymitch Abernathy, a paunchy, middle-aged man, who at this moment appears hollering something unintelligible, staggers onto the stage, and falls into the third chair.<p>

He's drunk. Very. The crowd responds with its token applause, but he's confused and tries to give Effie Trinket a big hug, which she barely manages to fend off. I snort.

The mayor looks distressed. Since all of this is being televised, right now District 12 is the laughingstock of Panem, and he knows it. He quickly tries to pull the attention back to the reaping by introducing Effie Trinket.

Bright and bubbly as ever, Effie Trinket trots to the podium and gives her signature, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" Her pink hair must be a wig because her curls have shifted slightly off-center since her encounter with Haymitch. She goes on a bit about what an honor it is to be here, although everyone knows she's just aching to get bumped up to a better district where they have proper victors, not drunks who molest you in front of the entire nation.

It's time for the drawing. Effie Trinket says as she always does, "Ladies first!" and crosses to the glass ball with the girls' names. She reaches in, digs her hand deep into the ball, and pulls out a slip of paper. The crowd draws in a collective breath and then you can hear a pin drop, and I'm feeling nauseous and so desperately hoping that it's not me, that it's not me, that it's not me.

Effie Trinket crosses back to the podium, smoothes the slip of paper, and reads out the name in a clear voice. It's not my name.

"It's Primrose Everdeen."  
>One time, when I was in a blind in a tree, waiting motionless for game to wander by, I dozed off and fell ten feet to the ground, landing on my back. It was as if the impact had knocked every wisp of air from my lungs, and I lay there struggling to inhale, to exhale, to do anything.<p>

That's how I feel now, trying to remember how to breathe, unable to speak, totally stunned as the name bounces around the inside of my skull. Someone is gripping my arm, a boy from the Seam, and I think maybe I started to fall and he caught me.

There must have been some mistake. This can't be happening.

Prim was one slip of paper in thousands! Her chances of being chosen so remote that I'd not even bothered to worry about her. Hadn't I done everything? Taken the tesserae, refused to let her do the same? One slip. One slip in thousands.  
>The odds had been entirely in her favor. But it hadn't mattered.<br>Somewhere far away, I can hear the crowd murmuring unhappily as they always do when a twelve-year-old gets chosen because no one thinks this is fair. And then I see her, the blood drained from her face, hands clenched in fists at her sides, walking with stiff, small steps up toward the stage, passing me, and I see the back of her blouse has become untucked and hangs out over her skirt. It's this detail, the untucked blouse forming a ducktail, that brings me back to myself.

"Prim!" The strangled cry comes out of my throat, and my muscles begin to move again. "Prim!"

I push through the crowd, some people moving, some not. How could they not realize how important this is? I'm almost to the stage, and I think Effie's noticed words are on my lips, a little voice in the back of my head says it's suicide, but I'd rather me than Prim. I open my mouth to shout when I feel a hand clamp over it. I twist to see who it is, ready to punch anyone, anything, blindly, and then he then barrels into me, effectively knocking us both to the ground, and out of sight of Effie. I struggle violently, panic building in my chest, but he refuses to get off me. I turn my head to catch a glimpse of blond hair and those blue eyes that I never forgot.

It's the boy with the bread.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hope you enjoy and don't forget to REVIEW / ALERT / FAVORITE!**

**Thanks XD**

**Rue:**  
>I wake up to sunlight streaming through the window, right into my eyes. It throws patches of light into our house (shack, really) through the windows and cracks onto my siblings all sprawled on the threadbare mattress that we share. Then it hits me-the sun is streaming in! We're late! I let out a shriek, which makes the twins, Aero and Fletcher, stir ever slightly.<p>

"Wake up!" I scream. I'm remembering what the Peacekeepers did to that family last week who tried to steal some apples from the orchards.

_It was the end of the day. I had just seen the flag and was about to whistle to my mockingjay friends, when I hear another melodic whistle from above me. Craning my head up, I see Brooke, younger than me by three years, balanced very precariously directly on top of the persimmon tree I'm working in. A surge of anger goes through me; music is one of the few joys in my life! How could she take that away from me? "_Brooke!_" I hiss. But Cleo and Betsy have already started singing the tune and then it spreads through the orchard. _

_I scramble down the tree with ease, jumping the last ten feet or so. A thump next to me tells me Brooke did the same. I know it's petty, but I'm still kind of annoyed with her for signaling the end of the day. Jealous, at the same time, of taking what is usually my role. It's a role I take pride in, too, everyone's always so happy when they hear my end-of-the-day whistle. _

_Brooke just started working in the orchards, and only because it's harvest season and there was a recent flu outbreak that took our numbers down quite a bit. I walk with her out of the orchard after dropping off the rest of the gathered persimmons to the waiting Peacekeepers with baskets, and I see them. It's getting dark out and I thankfully can't tell who it is. It's a group of four, most likely a family, two adults and two kids. The adults have slight bulges in their clothes, barely noticeable, but I can see it. And if I saw it, then so did the Peacekeepers. _

_At first, I think the Peacekeepers may have not noticed, and that the family can go home and enjoy some food for once. But then one, the really cruel one who hits with his gun, stops them. Pointing his gun at them, he says something, and the family reluctantly obeys. What choice do they have? They begin to take off their clothes and, unsurprisingly, a few apples come rolling out. Now they will be lead to the whipping post in the middle of town, tied up, and beat until the Head Peacekeeper is satisfied. _

_A small figure bumps into me, reminding me that I am not alone, that I have to take care of Brooke. "What are they doing?" she whispers. _

_Even at nine years old, she's learned what to say, when and where. I lie, "I'm not sure. Come on, looks like it's a jam, let's take the other exit." The one that does not lead to the center of town, and the inevitable gallows and posts where the family will be dragged to, but rather through the grain fields and to our house. I've grabbed her hand and started to push through the crowd, now murmuring unhappily about the impending punishment, when Brooke stops. _

_"Rue," she says a little louder, "Look!" _

_The family isn't being lead anywhere, in fact, the Peacekeeper is hitting the woman repeatedly with his gun right there. "Look away Brooke," I say, but she doesn't. I see the Peacekeeper cock his gun, and I can't believe this is happening. "Brooke," I say urgently._

_"Look at me," I order. I make sure she has her back to the crowd and I sing softly, "Deep in the meadow, under the willow-" _

BLAM!_ The shot rings out and some woman near us lets out a small whimper. I can see tears forming in Brooke's eyes, and she starts to turn her head. "No!" I say fiercely. "Look at me, listen to me." I resume my song, "A bed of grass-" _

BLAM!_ I allow myself one look, and I instantly regret it. There's blood and the two kids are screaming hysterically. Peacekeepers have restrained them and another is readying his gun. Following my own advice, I look into Brooke's dark brown eyes, eerily similar to mine, "A soft green pillow," I sing, "Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes-" _

BLAM! BLAM!_ "And when again they open, the sun will rise." I whisper to myself and to the Peacekeepers' latest victims. Who knows where you go when you die, but it has to be better than Eleven. Brooke is crying, and I make the decision to just take the main gate home and walk past the Peacekeepers. "Head up, wipe those tears away, you're better than them, don't give them the satisfaction of making you cry." I whisper to her as we near the gate. _

_"Rue," she begins, tears still running down her face, "Th-they-" _

_"Shhhh," I whisper. "It's okay, it's okay," I murmur, even though it never will be. "The important thing is that we're still here. So let's go home, Ma will be worried now." _

_We file past the Peacekeepers and I'm so proud of Brooke for keeping a straight face that I almost cry. But I hold myself together until we get home. Ma, Papa, Tessa, Aero, Fletcher and even little Sadie are waiting for us in the doorway, arms out. I really start to cry then, as does Brooke, and then we're enveloped by the only people in Panem who love us, our family. _

I jolt back to the present, and find myself hovering over all my siblings, right above Brooke. But seeing that they aren't waking up, I run into the other room while struggling into my well-worn shirt. I have it halfway on when I trip over a pot and go crashing down, making very loud clanging noises. I still haven't woken up, yet I'm terrified of what the Peacekeepers will do to my family. I can't control myself and I burst into tears.

"Who's there?" I hear Papa's familiar voice coming from outside.

He stands in the door, tanned from working outside so much, but not stooped over like some of the people who work on pulling roots and weeds from the ground. Instead, he has a broad, flat back and muscled shoulders from carrying heavy buckets of apples, plums, cherries and other assorted fruits in the orchards. "Papa," I blubber, "Th-the Peacekeepers, th-they're coming!" He sits down with me and pulls me into his lap, stroking my hair. But then he looks at me curiously.

"The Peacekeepers?" I can only nod. "Rue, the Peacekeepers aren't coming to our home, it's the day of the Reaping," he says soothingly.

"Oh," is all I can say. But I don't have to say anything, because at that moment my siblings shuffle in. I don't know how much they heard, and so I instantly regret my break down. Since I'm the oldest, it has often fallen to me to be the third parent to my five younger siblings. I love them and would never want it to be any way else, but I'll admit, sometimes it gets tiring always being the strong one, the protector. Sometimes I think, _I never signed up for this! _But then I remind myself that my parents never signed up for this life either, but we all just have to keep going.

After that, there was no going back to sleep. We had a quick breakfast of plain tersserae bread. At first, my parents were concerned about me taking out so much tesserae: one for each family member and the mandatory one, which gave me nine entries in all. It seemed like a lot to me at the time, but after I thought about it, it really isn't that many. Eleven is the biggest district, all of Panem know that, but no one knows how big it truly is. Even though I live here, I have no idea. The Capitol might have a census somewhere, but if they do, they're not sharing it. All I know is that nine entries isn't that many. My chances of being picked are pretty slim, or so I tell myself.

The waiting is killing me, but I don't tell anyone. Instead I play a round of hide-and-seek with the others in the trees surrounding our house. They're old, dying trees, which is probably why they haven't been cut down yet. I won by climbing as high as possible in my favorite tree. They never would've found me if I hadn't gotten bored and started whistling with the mockingjays. If only we could all hide up in the trees. That would be paradise.

Finally Ma calls me in to bathe while the others continue to play. I'm jealous of them, how carefree they are. But when I get in all thoughts of jealousy have washed away. My mother has laid out the most gorgeous dress I've ever seen. Granted, it's nothing compared to something from the Capitol, but it's a hundred times more special than normal. It's a simple white dress, but my mother has hand-embroidered mockingjays around the edges. I don't know where she found the money or time to do this. But before I can say anything, my throat closes up with emotion.

"You like it right?" she asks a little anxiously, after a few moments.

"Oh Ma," I gasp, "I love it!" Gently, she eases me into our cracked old wooden tub and massages soap into my hair while I scrub dirt and sap off of the rest of me. She helps me into the gorgeous dress and brushes my hair until it falls just so. She holds a cracked mirror up, and I see my reflection and catch my breath. No words can describe what I'm feeling, and so I just throw myself into my mother's arms. At that moment Brooke comes rushing in.

"Ma-" she begins, but abruptly stops. "Rue," she breathes, "You look...amazing," she says.

"For once," I respond with a little smile, squeezing her shoulder. I take a deep breath. "Come on, let's get the others, we don't want to be late."

We walk into one of the many fields dedicated to the Reaping. My heart gives a little stutter when I see all the cameras. District Eleven is so huge that all eligible children can't possibly fit in one field. There's a rumor that the names are drawn ahead of time, and the cameras go to whatever field the set tributes are in. It's probably just a rumor, but seeing all the cameras ready have me on edge. The cold, mean voice of a Peacekeeper snaps me back to reality. "Eligibles only," he commands, poking my mother with his gun.

"Alright," I say hastily, before he can do anything else.

"Rue," Brooke whimpers, "What if-"

"Shh," I cut her off, knowing what she was wants to say. I take a deep breath. "There are still thousands of slips," I say as bravely as I can. I kiss her on the forehead and turn to Tessa, planning on saying something to her, but the same Peacekeeper pushes us apart roughly. "Let's go!" he snaps, pushing me towards the fields and my family towards the side, where they will wait anxiously for the names to be called.

"Rue!" My father yells out, and I whirl around, hoping for a glimpse of him, but he's lost in the crowd.

"Move it girlie!" the Peacekeeper growls and shoves me to the ground. I just back up as quickly as possible to avoid being crushed and then melt back into the throng.

Too soon the bell chimes one o'clock and Mayor Pinkberry reads off the boring history of Panem, the Dark Days, the Rebellion and finally the Treaty of Treason. I had to memorize this for school last year, and allow myself a small smile when he messes up.

But then our ridiculous escort, Goldie Starbuck, hops up the stage and I start to feel woozy. The edges of my vision blur and my heart seems to be beating double-time. "Ladies first," Goldie chirps. I'm so nervous that my fingers have started to pick at my mother's beautiful embroidery. Immediately I stop, and begin to wring my hands instead.

She pulls the slip out and you could hear a pin drop.

The paper unfolds, and even the wind falls silent.

"Rue Goldwood."

My mother's scream pierces the silence.

The train's luxury sickens me. The gold drapes with real gold thread. The diamond-encrusted bathroom sinks. Even the water coming from the faucets stink of money. I spend the few days of the trip to the Capitol looking out at the passing scenery from the last train car. It's entirely of glass and it's one of the few things I've enjoyed since getting reaped. The one thing that ruins even this is the fact that this is the very first and very last time I'll probably get to see Panem.

"Rue! Rue, if you don't come and eat lunch right this second, young lady-" I groan and cover my ears to block out Goldie's nasally voice coming over the sound system.

A minute later, a hand is on my shoulder and I turn. It's Seeder. She smiles at me and gestures behind her, the hallway leading to the dining car. I sigh and get off my window seat and start the long walk to the table.

It's a tiring routine. I get up, eat breakfast, and spend the rest of the day at the very last car where I watch the countryside fly by. Those moments of solitude are broken only by Goldie's insistent calls over the train's loudspeakers that all tributes and mentors should have a "delightful reunion at mealtimes". Then I get to return to my place next to the crystal clear glass walls of the caboose and spend painful hours remembering each of the three minutes the Peacekeepers allowed my family. They came in in pairs, so they could get more time with me. If they had come in at once, that would've been three short minutes for all seven.

_Brooke and Tessa came in first, with baby Sadie. Brooke's face was surprisingly dry of tears but her hands, clutching Sadie tightly and trembling, gave her away. Tessa was a mess, her entire face scrunched up and vulnerable. It broke my heart. We spent the entire time in a close hug, and then the Peacekeeper came lurching in, barking that our time was up. Brooke had to wrench Tessa from me, and Sadie, barely one year old and with no idea what was going on, started to cry. I'd pushed them from the room so the Peacekeeper wouldn't have an excuse to do anything to them. _

"And how was your day, Thresh?" Goldie's plate contained two lettuce leaves, half an avocado, and an entire bowl of caviar. She was both overly spoiled (the caviar) and overly frugal (the lettuce). Supposedly she could survive on the caviar alone, but "had to balance out her diet to avoid early-on wrinkles", which explained the lettuce and avocado.

Everyone but Goldie kept eating, faces turned toward their plates. Goldie had angled her whole body towards Thresh, an exaggerated motion of attentiveness. He merely grunted. Pouting, Goldie turned towards me next. "And how was your day, dear?"

I almost get up from the table right there. I've been giving the same answer for the last three meals straight, and she keeps asking like an idiot. "It was _fine_, Goldie," I say through gritted teeth. Not like she cared if any of us said that it wasn't.

She looks away from me and turns to Seeder and Chaff expectantly, but both are turned away from the table and eagerly discussing Game tactics as if their lives depended on it. But there's don't. ours do. Thresh and I exchange glances and smirk. Last time Goldie managed to catch the mentors in a conversation, they ended up having to stand two hours of planning schedules and then another three discussing proper manners and behavior. After a final hour going over the latest styles in the Capitol, Goldie was luckily pulled away by an incoming video feed from her "besties", who were just "dying to hear about the fabulous new tributes".

Turning back to my bowl of soup that I had left unattended, my mind flashes back to the hour before the train. _Aero and Fletcher came into the room second, my adorable little twin brothers. Both were seven, but at that moment they looked about four. Fletcher burst into tears the second he saw me and Aero started bawling the next second. I hugged them both but after another minute, I pulled them away. "You have to be brave now, understand? You'll have to be big grown-ups and look after Sadie and help Brooke and Tessa and Ma and Papa with everything you can," I said fiercely. They nodded._

"_Rue...Rue, you have to come back! You'll win everything, because you're the best! You're strong and brave and you know how to make the mockingjays listen, and...and..." Fletcher rambled on while Aero punctuated every sentence with a nod. I smiled and ruffled their hair. "Sillies...there're much stronger-" I stopped and restarted. "Of course I'll win! I'm your big sister after all!" They smiled for the first time then, and the Peacekeeper burst into the room. "Time's up!" he growled. The twins were nudged from the room and I desperately cried after them, "Remember! Be big boys and don't forget I'll come back!" _

The next course was served-roasted ducks with orange sauce lightly drizzled over the crispy skin, pink flower petals framing the edges of the porcelain plate. Goldie clapped her hands in delight and dug right in. I stared blankly at the mahogany table-top while an Avox filled my plate.

_Ma and Papa came in last, holding hands and attempted to enfold me into a hug. I drew back and willed my tear ducts to seal shut. "Rue...oh my baby...Rue," Ma was crying and Papa looked close to tears himself, but he managed to hold it in. "I'm proud of you, Rue Goldwood," he whispered as he knelt down before me and took my hands in his. "You were so brave up on that stage." He turned his head to the side and clasped my hands tighter. Ma slumped down in the chair next to the window. I looked over at her and my eyes automatically started leaking again. _

_I forced my voice not to crack and insisted, "I'm going to come back, Ma, Papa. I'm not going to give up. I'll show that Eleven is just as capable of winning the Games." Papa looked back at me and smiled fiercely even as tears slid out of his eyes but Ma just sobbed harder._

_Papa pulled something from inside his shirt and dropped it into my outstretched hands. "Will you take this into the arena with you, as your token?" It was a necklace, braided out of woven grass, with a painstakingly intricate, carved wooden star fixed in the middle as the pendant. "Of course Papa," I whispered. "I was saving this for your thirteenth birthday, but seeing as how there's only a few more months 'til then, I thought I may as well give it to you now," Papa said. "It's a good luck charm. Keep it close to your heart. Just remember, we're with you always and we love you no matter what."_

"Oh! Oh, we've pulled up at the Capitol! We're four minutes ahead of schedule!" Goldie is practically wriggling with delight as she plasters herself to the floor-to-ceiling-window that is the east side of the dining car. She looks out to the city beyond like a district person would look at a ten-course meal.

The others' reactions are not so dramatic. Seeder and Chaff glance out the window and then resume talking. I clench my hands tighter and my fingernails make little half-moons on my palms. Thresh's only sign that he's heard Goldie is the fact that he's now stabbing his food as if he had a personal grudge against roast duck.

When we've finished up our meal, we are hustled directly out of the train, across a small glass bridge that overlooks one of the Capitol plazas where dozens of people are shrieking our names, and into a building.

I'm trembling. I'm trying so hard to stop my shaking but nothing's working. In the end, I grab on to the star necklace and think of Ma sewing my Reaping dress. Papa lifting Aero and Fletcher as easily as he lifts buckets of fruit. Brooke chasing Tessa around the trees in back of our house. Sadie grinning that innocent baby smile whenever she sees me.

I take a deep breath.

I'm ready.


	3. Chapter 3

**This fanfic is being co-authored by two users, TheColorIsPurple and pineapplegrl77. **  
><strong>Hope you enjoy and don't forget to REVIEW  ALERT / FAVORITE.**  
><strong>***REVIEWS make up our lives...wink-wink nudge-nudge***<strong>

**Katniss:**  
>She's gone. I still can't believe it-don't <em>want<em> to believe it-but she's gone.

The world seems dark and the coal dust that is everywhere is suddenly more suffocating than ever before. I sit in the woods, high up in a tree, and just dangle my legs over the side. I stare at the birds flitting around, the squirrels darting from branch to branch, and my hand twitches. I look down at it, so empty and small without the consistent bow and arrows. They're with me, of course, I would never be as stupid as to leave them behind when I'm in the woods, but they're slung behind me on my back, cold and unused.

I sigh and slip off my branch, landing softly on the grass. The sun has moved from shining on the trees to hiding behind a cloud cover. Following the sound of water, I walk slowly and quietly towards the lake. I haven't been there since Father died, but the last few days I've gradually made my way there, but never actually reached the lake. It brings up some painful reminders of life back when I didn't have to be the glue and the breadwinner of the family but the biggest ache it surfaces is his startlingly obvious absence in my life.

It still hurts after five years, the fact that he'll never get to teach me more about the woods, or sing songs that make the mockingjays pause. I had been healing, though. I was still jerking awake in the middle of the night, screaming for him to run, but I had also gotten used to depending only on myself and Gale.

The Reaping threw it all away. Now I wake up screaming for Prim to run. Screaming at Effie, the Mayor, Snow, the Capitol, Panem, at everyone. Especially Peeta Mellark. In my dreams I scream at him, kick him, punch him. But nothing brings her back.

As I get closer to the lake, my temper flares up. Thinking of Mellark brings up nothing but anger these days, whereas before it brought up that bittersweet memory that's haunted me ever since, the sharp pangs of hunger pains, and a fleeting rush of feverish gratefulness. I take out a roll of tesserae bread and bite into it angrily, but I'm spinning out of control. I hurl the bread across the pond and let out a yell in frustration.

"What did that bread ever do to you?" I hear. I reel around, and it's Gale. Of course. I haven't seen anyone else in days. It's too painful at home, and the stares around town make me want to tear my hair out. So I've been spending all my time in the woods, alone with just my own thoughts and nobody else's pitying glances. I replay the terrible scene over and over in again in my head. I should've moved faster, screamed louder, punched harder. I should've saved her.

Today and yesterday, I had waited for night to fall before I sneaked back home like a fugitive. Then I left early in the morning, so no one saw me then, either. I spent hours and hours on end in the woods, not hunting, just wandering.

Snapping out of my thoughts, I stare at Gale, mutely. Last week I might've had a witty response, a laugh or a smile. Last week we were having fun in the woods, making fun of Effie and the ridiculousness of the Capitol accent.

_We could do it you know._ Leave the District. _Run off. Live in the woods. _Why didn't I? I want to kick myself-we could've done it! We could've made it. Me, Gale, Prim, Vicky, Rory, Posy and even our mothers. It would've been hard, but it might've worked. I think of the cursed Games motto. _May the odds be _ever _in your favor_. _She was one slip in thousands! _I scream in my head._ But in the end it amounted to nothing. At all. _

Last week Prim was still home. Last week I still felt alive.

After a long stretch of silence, Gale says softly, "Hey, I didn't mean it that way, it's just...just good to see you again. Your mother's worried sick." He comes forwards and embraces me in a hug.

I whisper in a hoarse voice, "How's she holding up?"

He stares at me for a moment. "Better than you," he states frankly. To my surprise, I start laughing hysterically. I sink to my knees and the laughs turn into sobs. "Prim's gone. She might not even be coming back. Why does it even matter? Oh but she's fine. In fact, she's better than me. Well that's just fine. That's just great. But why now? Why is she okay WHEN NOBODY IS THERE TO NEED IT?" I cry after my sobs become slightly less hysterical.

He kneels down, and takes my chin in his hand. "She's stronger than you think," he says. I think he's referring to both Prim and my mother, but I'm too exhausted to think it through further.

He lowers his head and gently kisses me on the lips. I am so stunned I forget to breathe. "And you are too," he tells me. He stands there, as if waiting, but I'm speechless. After a while, he gives an almost inaudible sigh. "School starts soon. I'll be back. Stay safe, Catnip," he touches the top of my head, then turns his back and starts the hour-long trek back to Twelve.

I sit there, perfectly still, for hours, staring at the lake, the sky, the plants, my mind a mess. But two things are crystal clear; ice cold daggers digging into my brain.

She's gone.

And I don't know if I'll ever see her again.

**Peeta:**  
>"Hey Mellark!"<p>

I looked down the hallway as my friend hurtled towards me. "Mellark!" She wasn't here today, and she _never_ misses school, except for the time after the explosion in the mine. Her father had been killed and she missed an entire week. If she was, she would've been trudging towards the yard right now, heading home. I sighed. It really shouldn't bother me anymore, if at all, but it still did. Her every move, her presence or absence, I take notice of it all.

"Mellark, are you heading home or do you have time today?" Sam was my best friend, the tall and broad-shouldered son of Twelve's butcher. "Have you seen Katniss?" was my automatic reply before I remembered I never brought her up in conversation.

"The girl with the braid? She wasn't in History. It's weird, she's usually right there, glaring in her seat at the back of the classroom," Sam remarked. He slung his arms around me and frog-marched me good-naturedly out the battered double doors of the school. "But hey, if you're not going home yet, the other guys say they have a game going on at Jem's house. You coming?"

"Uh...yeah, sure. The bakery doesn't get many people right now, anyway." We headed out of the yard and turned right. As a second thought, I glanced back towards the oak tree. Sometimes she would be waiting under there for Gale Hawthorne. He got out of class later-since he was only a year away from the coal mines, he had extra classes. I frowned. She wasn't there, either. At Sam's impatient call, I turned around and hurried to catch up.

We'd just made it halfway to Jem's when he stepped in our path with a blank look on his handsome face. Sam grinned a hello and tried to walk around him with me. He blocked the path again and we looked at him.

'I'd like a word with Mellark," he said.

"Me?"

He looked at me, his face turning dark. Sam paused. I looked at him and gestured for him to go ahead. I turned. "What is it?"

"About the Reaping..."

My stomach sank. The last thing I wanted to hear about was a reminder of that confusing day, and I definitely knew what this particular guy wanted to ask. "Look-"

"What's your deal with Katniss?" he shot bluntly. Now that we were facing the topic head-on, my face turned traitorously red. I stayed silent.

"Look, I'm not looking for a fight. All I want to know is why you stopped Katniss. What is she to you?" he stared at me. A surge of resentment rolled through me. He had the freedom to question others for her, while I couldn't even ask a basic question without getting strange looks.

"She's..." I searched for words and he raised an eyebrow, waiting. "...a friend."

He smiled incredulously. "You don't talk to her. At all. Not one word, not one gesture. Not a thought, not even a glance." I chose not to correct his last sentence and waited for him to finish. "Nothing for sixteen years, and now you're friends enough to stop her from volunteering for Prim? I, on the other hand, am with her, day in, day out. I know how much Prim means to her. True, going into the Games might've killed her, but Prim going just might kill her too." With that, he spun around and stalked away, leaving me more confused than ever. _What did I do?_ I thought, not for the first time and definitely not the last.

I whip around. "Hawthorne!" He's already disappeared. I bet he's heading to Katniss right now, I bet he's the only one who knows where she's been these days, I bet he knows exactly what's going through her head. I sigh in frustration and shake the thoughts out of my head. I run to catch up with Sam, who's probably at Jem's house by now. As I round the corner, almost skidding out of control on a mud puddle, I slam into a woman. She's pale and skinny, and while she has the blond hair and blue eyes of a Townie, her thin frame and the lean look in her eyes immediately marks her as someone from the Seam. And while other people would never see it, I know who she is right away. It's Katniss's mother.

She stumbles back and I reach out a hand, catching her. "I'm so sorry," I mutter, nodding my head in apology and turning bright red again. She nods an acknowledgement and tries to walk around me.

"Wait!" I cry. She turns her body every so slightly, but it's clear that she wants to be left alone. "Um...excuse me, but...uh...do you mind telling me why Katniss was absent today?" I cringe the second the words are out of my mouth. They're insensitive and tactless. She doesn't seem to notice, but recognizes me.

"You're the baker's son," she says in barely more than a whisper. "Hello." I nod awkwardly. "No, I don't know where my daughter is. I wish I did. If you see her, please," her voice catches, but she swallows and and continues, "Tell her to come home." She pauses. "...And please tell her that it won't be like the last time."

_Tell her it won't be like last time_. The words echo through my head for the rest of the afternoon. _What happened last time? What does last time even mean?_ With these questions, I'm reminded yet again just how little I know about Katniss. _I bet Hawthorne knows exactly what Mrs. Everdeen is talking about_, I think. For a second I debate the merits of telling him and hoping he'll relay it to Katniss, but I dismiss the notion as soon as I think of it. The last thing I need is another strange confrontation with him.

But how to bring the message to Katniss?

**Katniss:**  
>It's late afternoon, going on early evening, when I finally decide to return from the day. Though I've done nothing but wander aimlessly, I still feel drained. I'm more exhausted than I should be. I've never gone an entire day without properly hunting. The emotional and psychological stress of the Reaping has taken its toll. Even the walk from the lake to Twelve's fence seems like a million miles. After stowing my unused bow and arrows securely into the hollowed log, I'm about to squeeze through the hole in the fence when I see a low-hanging tree branch across the Meadow quiver. I immediately tense and shrink back into the shadows of the woods.<p>

I think fast. It wouldn't be Gale. He's usually at the Hob at this time, dropping by for special game requests for tomorrow's early morning hunting. And he would never have made his presence known so easily-he's far too stealthy to bump into a branch. For the first time all day, I reach silently for the stashed bow and arrows with the full intention of using them. My breathing slows and my hand steadies as I line up the arrow with the bowstring. I sight my target and lock in place, waiting for another glimpse before shooting.

Several hesitant moments pass and then I see a peek of blonde hair. It's a boy, and one from town at that. If he gets a clear sight of me, there's no doubt I'd be reported to the Peacekeepers. It'd be a surprise if they actually bothered to do anything with me, what with Head Peacekeeper Cray's laziness, but still it's not worth the trouble. Deciding against shooting, I shrink back even further, trying to draw him out. Sure enough, he falls for it. He glances around nervously and, step by step, makes his way out into the open. It's _him_. Now my fingers are just itching to release the arrow right through his head, but I want to do one thing first. The urge is just overwhelming and before I know it, the rage has overtaken me.

I straighten up, take meticulous aim, and let the arrow fly. My arm is perfect. The arrow brushes his hair just so. He leaps a mile in the air and I almost smile...almost. But then he composes himself and peers in my general direction. "Katniss?" Peeta whispers.

My eyes narrow. Is he actually trying to confront me? "What." My voice rings out across the Meadow, bolstered by my cross attitude. I've forgotten, for the smallest of moments, that I am on the wrong side of the fence, should anyone hear and come to investigate. Is it just me, or does he grin when I duck through the fence? "What." I demand again flatly.

He opens his mouth, but then closes it again. "Your mother," he begins, and I tense up.

"What about her?"

"Sh-she...she said that it, um, wouldn't be like last time?" It comes out sounding like a question, and I'm sure he has no idea what the message meant, but I do. I know exactly what she's talking about. Suddenly, I am more furious than ever. "DO you even know what you're talking about? Do you even _care_?" I growl, marching towards him and prodding him in the chest. He takes a few steps back and his eyes dart around nervously like the prey I'm used to hunting, but I simply advance further. He has hurt me much more than any prey is even capable of.

"Why'd you do it anyway?" My voice becomes a little higher, a little more incoherent, and a sob creeps into my throat. I swallow it and will my eyes to stay dry. "What did I ever do to you? What did _she_ ever do to you? Nothing. Nothing! And now look what you've done! You've killed her! You've killed her, you heartless, ignorant jerk! Sent her to her death!" My knees go weak and he steps forward, as if to catch me. _There's no way that's happening_. The thought flashes through my mind before he can make contact.

"Don't touch me." I shoot a poisonous stare his way and he stumbles back yet again, a strange look on his face. It's a mixture between bewilderment, fear, empathy, and something close to curiosity, but it didn't matter. I spring up and lunge towards him.

Growling like a mountain lion, I punch him in the face as hard as I can. He staggers back and sinks to his knees, face full of shocked pain. I fly at him again, but this time I've lost the element of surprise. I'm out of control, I can't breathe, I can't see. I'm swinging blindly and it's like we're in the Square all over again-except this time there's less desperation, more emotion, and much less to lose.

The second time he catches me mid-swing and holds on tight. "Let go!" I shriek, as an annoyingly rational voice in the back of my head tells me how much of a racket I'm making.

"Let her go." The command comes from a cool, authoritative voice across the Meadow.

Gale.


	4. Chapter 4

**This fanfic is being co-authored by two users, TheColorIsPurple and pineapplegrl77.**  
><strong>Hope you enjoy and don't forget to REVIEW  ALERT / FAVORITE.**  
><strong>Hellooo, Dear Readers. Here is Chapter 4 of CoC (finally), after months and months of waiting. Hopefully, we can start updating sooner from now on, but thanks for hanging on with us all 'til now! <strong>

**Peeta:**  
>"Let her go." The voice rang out across the Meadow. I turn my head, Katniss still trying to fight her way out of my grip and swing her fists at my face at the same time.<p>

Hawthorne's face is practically murderous, which throws me off. He's clenching that burlap sack that he always lugs around so hard, his knuckles are white.

I let go of Katniss's wrist and she springs away from me, glaring all the while. Hawthorne advances toward her and examines her arms where I had held them for all but a split second. "I'm fine, Gale!" she mutters, as she twists her hands away from his grasp. "Let's just go." She starts turning away but he puts a hand on her shoulder, pausing her.

"You," he says menacingly. If he stared any harder, his eyes would pop out.

I stare back. "What?" I spit.

"You. Will. Stay. Away. From. Her." He enunciates each word slowly and glares even harder. His chest puffs out as he stomps towards me. _How does Katniss not see what a jerk this guy is? _

"What if she wants me around?" I shoot back. It's a ridiculous statement, something that I know will never be true, especially after what I did at the Reaping. But I can still hold onto that dream, and enjoy Hawthorne's reaction. His face appears to be rapidly turning several shades of purple.

But instead of punching me, he simply says, very calmly, "Just leave."

I don't move or respond, but suddenly he's not concerned with me anymore. He turns back to Katniss, who's watching this whole debacle with a look that's both amused and apprehensive. "Hey, Catnip," he says casually. She looks at him, and then back at me, and for once, I don't see the hollow eyes from before, but bloodthirsty ones, and they're directed at me.

"You," she hisses, straightening up and stalking towards me again. It's like I've been transported back in time by a few minutes. I keep silent. To my surprise, she doesn't launch herself at me. Instead she's...measuring me. I keep perfectly still, trying not to set her off again as I soak up her face, her voice, even her stance.

Finally, Hawthorne interrupts the silent exchange. "Let's _go_," he says, pulling at her arm.

"Gale, stop," she says calmly, her face betraying no emotion. We stare into each other's eyes for another beat, and then she says, "I just wanted to see into the eyes of my sister's killer." Her voice is quiet, but her thinly veiled accusations fly through the air between us. Her tone betrays nothing, but her eyes...I look into them and I can see that she's drowning in the despair over Prim, thanks to me.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. _But I couldn't let you die. You were the one bright thing in Twelve, the one thing I could look forward to seeing each day. Too bad you'll never know this. _

She spares me one last look and then her eyes lose their focus. She looks as if she's hundreds of miles away, over at the Capitol with Prim, probably. After another pause, she spins on her heels and leaves the Meadow. Hawthorne trails after her, looking nearly as confused as I am.

**Prim:**  
>The Capitol is overwhelming. I've only been here for a day or so, but I've never seen such luxury in my life. Everything blinds me with the light reflecting off of its fake, bright colors. When I mentioned this, Effie went into a huff over how nobody appreciates style anymore. I haven't voiced any more of my opinions since.<p>

I think about Katniss and Mother all the time. When I wake up, when I eat, whenever I see a new thing, and when I go to sleep and dream. The first night I was away from them on the train-the first night I had ever been away from them-I barely slept. Instead I curled up in the bathroom to cry. The bed was too big for me alone and I sank halfway to the floor before the ridiculously soft and foreign mattress started to support my weight. I missed the thin, hard mattress I shared with Katniss at home. I missed Buttercup. I missed seeing the cakes in the window of the bakery, and most importantly, I missed my family. I still do.

The bright side is that Cinna has been amazing. He's so comforting to have around, like an older cousin or a brother.

After the prep team had finished plucking what few excess hairs I had on my body, surrounding me like a trio of oddly colored birds, pecking at me, I had waited nervously in the Prep Hall. They were nice enough, I suppose, even with their strange fashion styles and Capitol accents, but they made me uncomfortable. The man with the purple lipstick, Flavius, patted my head when they first saw me and the other two started murmuring in baby voices about how young I was. The one with the green skin, Octavia, looked like she was going to start crying. At least they gave a paper gown to cover myself up. Usually all tributes are presented to their stylists naked, so they can get the "full scope".

When Cinna had walked in, I had liked him immediately. His brown hair was organic and his eyes were a rich, natural color, and more importantly, kind. The only thing Capitol about him was his striking gold eyeliner, which emphasized the flecks in his irises. I had to stop myself from smiling-a habit I had picked up for whenever I met people. I had to be strong, like Katniss, and that meant I had to learn the survival skill she's perfected-showing no emotion.

"So, you're my stylist?" I said. I tried to sound strong, but it came out more like a question. _You can do better than that Prim_, I chided myself.

He smiled and extended his hand. After a moment's hesitation, I put my hand into his larger one and he shook it. "Hello, Primrose. I'm Cinna, your stylist," he says in a quiet voice somewhat lacking in the Capitol's affectations. Against my will, I started liking him more.

He started walking slowly around me in a circle. I froze and stood absolutely still, like the prey that Katniss hunts. When he finished, I visibly exhaled. He grinned and I relaxed.

"Why don't you put on your robe and we'll have a chat." Gratefully donning a thin cotton robe, I followed him through a door into a sitting room. Two red couches face off over a low table. Three walls are blank, the fourth is entirely glass, providing a window to the city. I can see by the light that it must be around noon, although the sunny sky has turned overcast.

Cinna invites me to sit on one of the couches and takes his place across from me. He presses a button on the side of the table and the top splits. From below rises a second table-top that holds our lunch. Chicken and chunks of oranges cooked in a creamy sauce laid on a bed of pearly white grain, tiny green peas and onions, rolls shaped like flowers, and for dessert, a pudding the color of honey. I stare at the food, my stomach gurgling with pleasure and anticipation, even as I think of Katniss and Mother back home.

"You're a new stylist, aren't you? I haven't seen you before." The silence is uncomfortable, especially with a Capitol stranger who doesn't seem to feel the need to fill the air with meaningless blather, like the prep team.

"Yes, this is my first year. I requested your district." I'm surprised. Usually, nobody wants to get stuck with us. Katniss announces every year when the Chariot Rides are broadcasted that no airhead stylist ever wants to end up with the least desirable district. I stifle a guilty giggle at the memory of the poor tributes who were naked and covered in coal dust that one year. Instead, I keep my face as impassive as possible. _What would Katniss do now_, I ask myself in desperation. Knowing her, she'd probably be silent and surly. While I've thrown surly out the window and onto the strangely colored buildings, I can manage the silent part.

I stare at the food he's summoned. What must it be like, I wonder, to live in a world where food appears at the press of a button? How would I spend the hours I now commit to getting food and money for our family to survive-milking Lady and making butter and cheese and selling it, picking plants in the Meadow as per Katniss's instructions, helping Mother treat patients -if food were so easy to come by? What do they do all day, these people in the Capitol, besides decorating their bodies and waiting around for a new shipment of tributes to roll in and die for their entertainment?

I look up and find Cinna's eyes trained on mine. "How despicable we must seem to you," he says. For a moment I feel a flare of anger but then I suppress it. It's not this man's fault. When I keep silent, he says, "No matter. So, Primrose, about your costume for the opening ceremonies." I brace myself for the plan. Cinna seems to be much more intellectually intact than other Capitol citizens, but underneath he could be hiding an obsession with clownish costumes and makeup for all I knew.

He continues, oblivious, "My partner, Portia, is the stylist for your fellow tribute, Ash Highwall. Our current plan is to dress you in complementary costumes. As you know, it's customary to reflect the flavor of the district."

_Here it goes_, I think, and internally flush with the horrors of thoughts of being televised to all of Panem in nothing but coal dust.

"This year, we've decided to focus on the coal rather than focus on the coal mining itself. And what do we do with coal? We burn it," says Cinna. "You're not afraid of fire, are you, Primrose?" His grin is positively devious.

A few hours later, I am dressed in what will either be the most sensational or the deadliest costume in the opening ceremonies. I am in a simple black dress, understated and elegant. The bottom trails to just above my ankles. A headpiece akin to a crown sits on my head and a sheer, gray smoky veil flies behind. But it's the back and train of the dress, made of streams of orange, yellow and red, along with the matching headpiece that will make or break this costume-or set me on fire, as Cinna plans.

"It's not real flame, of course, just a little synthetic fire Portia and I came up with. You'll be perfectly safe," he says. But I'm not entirely convinced I won't be perfectly barbecued by the time we reach the city's center.

My face is relatively clear of makeup, just a bit of highlighting here and there. Cinna's added touches of flame-colored eyeshadow and blush and outlined my eyes to make them stand out in the evening light. My hair has been brushed out and Cinna deftly sprays it with a light mist, giving it more volume, but when I move my head, my hair fans out behind me, and then settles on my shoulders. I love it, and my delighted smile is obvious to Cinna as I stroke my hair as gently as I would Lady.

I peer at myself in the mirror. "I want the audience to recognize you when you're in the arena," says Cinna dreamily. "Primrose Everdeen, the phoenix risen out from the flames."

"Phoenix?" I ask.

"It's a type of bird that was included in the old myths, long ago, before Panem existed. The myth goes that, every hundred years, the phoenix would burst into flames which it would ignite itself," Cinna explains as he sets the headpiece just so on my head. "The bird is reduced to ashes but in the end, a newly born phoenix arises from the charred remains and is ready to live a new life. It is a cycle of birth and death, destruction and resurrection."

"That's beautiful, Cinna."

"Yes, well, praise the ones who came up with it. I, for one, am only a mere stylist."

We exchange laughs and I really can't help it, I would trust Cinna in any circumstance.

Cinna pauses as he makes the last, tiniest adjustments to my outfit and overall appearance. "Yes, I think we're all done here! You look absolutely beautiful, Primrose." He smiles in a reassuring way.

For the the first time since I came here, I smile as easily as I would at home. "Call me Prim. It's what everyone calls me."

"You look beautiful, Prim."

"Thank you."

When Ash arrives, I'm relieved, because he shows up in a matching costume. Not quite the same, though-instead of a dress he has a long jacket with the tail ends to be lit on fire. The same circlet sits on his head. We're whisked down to the bottom level of the Remake Center, which is essentially a giant stable. The opening ceremonies are about to start. Pairs of tributes are being loaded into chariots pulled by teams of four horses. Ours are coal black. The animals are so well trained, no one even needs to guide their reins.

**Rue:**  
>The itchy neckline of the stupid electric-blue blouse is annoying me. I pull at it and my hands immediately get slapped away by my stylist, Polkiss. He snaps at me for a while about how I'm constantly endangering his creations and then turns on his heels and huffily walks to where the other stylists have gathered to watch the event. Thresh looms at my side, looking sympathetic.<p>

We're both wearing these ridiculous silver wreaths that have leafy detailing. Mine makes me look like I sprouted horns while Thresh seems to be having a galaxy revolve around his head. He gets to wear a normal, white shirt but stupid Polkiss gives me the one with a color that will be blinding everybody. Overalls cover most of our body, mine in dress form that goes down to my knees and Thresh's with ankle-length pants. We're both wearing sensible black dress shoes. Thank god our stylists didn't bedazzle them or something.

Some sort of signal must've been given, because of all a sudden, every tribute is getting on their chariots and standing ramrod straight. I notice another girl behind me, from Twelve. She's dressed in a wispy black dress, simple but lovely, and has a very innocent looking face. I'm immediately jealous of her sensible clothes. For the hundredth time, I think, _Stupid Polkiss_. She sees me staring and the corners of her mouth start turning up, but almost as a second thought she assumes a blank face. I decide I'd get along better with her than the other tributes and extend a hand.

"Hi. I'm Rue from Eleven," I say.

She looks surprised and this time doesn't manage to hide it. As if from instinct, she smiles brightly and and shakes my offered hand. "I'm Primrose Everdeen, from Twelve." Her eyebrows knit together, like she's silently berating herself for acting friendly.

I'm warming up to her more and more. She doesn't look devious or malicious and seems just as scared and out of place as I am. Acting on impulse, I shout over the speakers that have just begun blaring the Capitol anthem. "WANT TO BE ALLIES?"

For a second, I'm worried she hasn't heard me, but then her eyes widen and I turn back to the front, facing the screaming crowd.

My heart's beating fast from my offer, but as the noise of the audience gets louder with every feet we draw closer, every single part of my body starts trembling. I've never been in front of this many before that has all their attention focused on me, not even on Reaping Day, up in front of Eleven. I pray that the chariots before me collapse, or that a sudden national emergency forces everyone to leave. Thresh sees my shaking hands gripping the handles of the chariot. He tries to guide me on but I'm frozen to the spot. We're due in about four chariots.

I feel myself being gently lifted onto the chariot and look up at Thresh in surprise. He smiles slowly at me, as if he's not used to showing affection. The smile makes him look less threatening and massive. There's only two chariots in front of us now and he quickly sets me down and we both face front. My hand's still quivering. Thresh reaches over and squeezes them in reassurance.

Then we're being pulled out into the open air by our horses and he quickly lets go of my hand, moving away ever so slightly, the grin wiped from his face. The nerves come back full force. I feel myself attempt a grin and my face freezes that way-the rest of the rides were a blur. I turn back once and see a glimpse of Primrose and her fellow tribute behind us and my breath catches. They look amazing. Licks of fire are dancing and leaping off of them and they seem deadly and untouchable. It all accentuates Primrose's innocent features and makes her look tougher.

**Prim:**  
>Late that night, after the rides, I'm cocooned into the quilts in my room, staring at the ceiling that seems to go on forever in the darkness. I can't sleep. My ears still seem to ring from the roaring of the crowd and in my mind, I see the endless rows upon rows of ecstatic, bloodthirsty citizens that screamed my name and showered me with flowers and tokens.<p>

The bed is cold by myself and my own body heat isn't enough to warm it. I'm used to having either Katniss or Mother beside me, their comforting presence and rhythmic breathing lulling me to sleep.

I remember back to the Chariot Rides, that girl who was the same age as me. _Want to be allies?_

The phrase plays over and over in my head. I dissect it and put it back together, analyzing and stressing and fretting over what I should do. _I wish Katniss was here to tell me to toughen up and stroke my hair. Buttercup would wound himself between my legs and purr. Then he'd hiss at Katniss and yowl for milk._

I turn onto my side and nestle deeper into the bed. The space is slowly warming up. There's probably a built in heater somewhere pumping warm air into the mattress and quilt. Yawning, eyes sliding close, I grope around to pat Buttercup one more time before I fall asleep but there's nothing but air. The last thought before I succumbed to dreams was a grim reminder of the Games and a countdown of the days.

**So as you may have noticed, some lines in this chapter have been inserted from the original book by Suzanne Collins. We (the authors) decided they fit perfectly with the situation, no matter if it was Katniss or Prim. Thanks for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Prim:**  
>I wake up and at first I don't remember what has happened for the last two days. "Mother?" No reply. "Katniss! Have you gone out already?" Still nothing. I crack open an eye, stare up at the gilded Capitol ceiling, and freeze for a moment. A few seconds later, I flop onto my other side and start groaning. <em>I'm not getting out of bed<em>, I swear. _Not until they make me_.

As if on cue, Effie starts rapping smartly on my door. "Get up! Up, up, up! It's going to be a very big day!" I throw a silent tantrum in bed as Effie plays out her little rhythm and then leaves, heels clicking annoyingly down the hall, no doubt on her way to bother someone else. Reluctantly, I get out of bed and shuffle to the bathroom. I turn on all the faucets and foam and bubbles and water and whatnot of all different shapes, sizes, colors, and textures start filling the bathtub. I promptly sink to my knees and close my eyes.

They're closed for all but a split second when I can't stand it any longer and spring into action. I'm not a rule breaker like Katniss or Gale. If one of them was here instead of me, they would probably be able to stun Effie into silence. Thinking of them makes tears well up in my eyes but I swallow and push them down. I'm getting good at that. I quietly wash up and pull on the clothes laid out for me by someone, maybe Cinna. Then I pad slowly down the hallway towards the dining room and am greeted by a welcome sight.

The breakfast spread is like nothing I've seen: scones, waffles and pancakes, juice, coffee, milk, and everything in between. I scan the magnificent spread, overwhelmed. It must have shown on my face because, after a moment, a servant in all red hands me a mug mutely. Unsure of what to say, I give him a tentative smile and take a sip. Katniss would love the drink, I just know. I take another sip and savor the rich smell and warmth escaping from the rim.

"Now that," Haymitch slurs from across the table. "Is nothing compared to some nice hard liquor. Take gin, or maybe some vodka or whiskey." Smirking, he sweeps his arms out and gestures grandly to an ever-present bottle of alcohol.

I'd been scared of Haymitch when I'd first met him— smelly, unkempt, uncouth, and practically barbaric, so I keep my silence and stare deep into my drink instead. "Not much of a talker are you?" he drawls. "Not much of a drinker either," I shoot back, surprising both him and myself. He downs the rest of the bottle in one swallow and sets it onto the table with a thud. Reaching for another bottle, he eyes me curiously. "Don't knock it til you've tried it, sweetheart." And with that, he sweeps, or rather staggers, out of the room.

At that moment, Ash comes in. His eyes widen at the feast before him. "So," he says timidly. "Are you ready?" I'm nervous about the training. There will be three days in which all the tributes practice together. On the last afternoon, we'll each get a chance to perform in private before the Gamemakers. The thought of meeting the other tributes face-to-face makes me queasy. I turn the roll I have just taken from the basket over and over in my hands, but my appetite is gone.

"No," I answer.

"Me neither," he replies, and we sit in silence until Effie bursts into the room.

"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear! We're behind schedule!" she exclaims, as if it's the worst thing that could possibly happen. Being picked for the Games obviously doesn't make her list. She clomps over to us in her ridiculously high heels and grabs my hand and Ash's elbow. I glance at the clock. It's just after ten. While we're waiting for the elevator, I wring my hands, smooth back my hair and wring my hands again. I can feel my anxiety rising even higher.

The actual training rooms are below ground level of our building. With these elevators, the ride is less than a minute. The doors open into an enormous gymnasium filled with various weapons and obstacle courses. We're the last ones to arrive. The other tributes are gathered in a tense circle and each has a cloth square with their district number on it pinned to their shirts. Someone comes up to us and pins a number twelve onto our shirts.

As soon as we join the circle, the head trainer, a tall, athletic woman named Atala, steps up and begins to explain the training schedule. Experts in each skill will remain at their stations. We will be free to travel from area to area as we choose, per our mentor's instructions. Some of the stations teach survival skills, others fighting techniques. We are forbidden to engage in any combative exercise with another tribute. There are assistants on hand if we want to practice with a partner.

When Atala begins to read down the list of the skill stations, my eyes can't help flitting around to the other tributes. It's the first time we've been assembled, on level ground, in simple clothes. My heart sinks. Every single boy and all but one of the girls are bigger than I am, even though many of the tributes have never been fed properly. You can see it in way their bones show, the quality of their skin, the hollow look in their eyes. I may be smaller naturally, but overall my family's resourcefulness has given me an edge healthwise. I stand up straighter. While I'm thin, I'm fit and healthy. The meat and vegetation from the woods Katniss gets have given me a healthier body than most of those I see around me. _Katniss would be so much better at this than me_, I think to myself despairingly. Then, a little voice in the back of my head pipes up, _then why didn't she volunteer for you?_ I almost gasp aloud from the very thought. Instead I refocus on analyzing the tributes around me.

The slight advantage I held coming into the Training Center, my fiery entrance last night, seems to vanish in the presence of my competition. The other tributes were jealous of us, not because we were amazing, but because our stylists were. Now I see nothing but contempt in the glances of the Career Tributes. Each must have a hundred pounds or more on me. They project arrogance and brutality. When Atala releases us, they head straight for the deadliest looking weapons in the gym and handle them with ease.

Unsure of where to start, I head to a deserted station, knot-tying. After half an hour or so, I realize someone has joined me. I glance over and see the girl from Eleven, Rue. She looks over too and we stare at each other for a moment. I open my mouth and I'm about to say something, but then I decide against it. I don't want to get to know any of these people. And so we work in silence for another hour. I master several basic snares as well as a simple, excellent trap that will leave a person dangling by a leg from a tree.

I move onto camouflage and Rue follows me. My curiosity piqued, I steal a few more glances. When she moves onto plants, I follow her. My knowledge of plants, while nothing like Katniss's, is still fairly expansive. During the summer I forage in the Meadow on a daily basis, not to mention I help Mother with her patients. She uses mostly natural remedies, since real medicine is far too expensive. This however, pales in comparison to Rue's knowledge. She passes the the edible plants test without a glance, identifying all the plants and rattling off their uses. She even lists a few I don't know.

Finally, I give in to my curiosity. "How do you know what those are?" I ask quietly, motioning to a small pile of nondescript leaves that I know for a fact are wild felonwood leaves. Mother uses those as a paste for curing infections and stings.

"We all carry them when we work in the orchards. They left a lot of nests there," says Rue.

"You mean tracker jackers?" I nearly gasp. Katniss says she's run into their nests a few times, but she always stays far away. They're really dangerous. Rue nods and we both fall silent.

We move onto our next station, climbing. There's a ropes course, suspended off of part of the ceiling. To my astonishment, Rue quite literally flies through the course. She makes daring leaps from one platform to the next with ease. And when she gets down, she's not even breathing hard. Scrambling for something to say, I think of our exchange at the camouflage station. "Orchards, huh?" I say. "That must be how you can fly around the ropes like you've got wings." Rue smiles. I've landed on one of the few things she'll admit pride in. Then it's time for lunch, and we all file into out of the training room.

Breakfast and dinner are served on our separate floors, but at lunch the twenty-four of us eat in a dining room off the gymnasium. Food is arranged on carts around the room and you serve yourself. The Career tributes tend to gather rowdily around one table, as if to prove their superiority and the fact that they have no fear of one another and consider the rest of us beneath notice. Most of the other tributes sit alone, like lost sheep. Rue and I take a table in the back and, thankfully, no one says a word to us. For a while, all conversation stops as we fill our stomachs.

"Oh," says Rue with a sigh. "I've never had a whole leg to myself before." I look up and see she's holding what looks like a wild turkey leg, but I know for a fact it's probably chicken or some other fancy animal.

"I'd have thought, in District Eleven, you'd have a bit more to eat than us. You know, since you grow the food," I say.

Rue's eyes widen. "Oh, no, we're not allowed to eat the crops."

"Do they arrest you?" I ask.

"They whip you and make everyone else watch," says Rue. "The mayor's very strict about it."

I can tell by her expression that it's not that uncommon an occurrence. A public whipping's a rare thing in District 12, although occasionally one occurs. Technically, Katniss and Gale could be whipped on a daily basis for poaching in the woods — well, technically, they could get a whole lot worse — except all the officials buy their meat. Besides, our mayor doesn't seem to have much taste for such events. Maybe being the least prestigious, poorest, most ridiculed district in the country has its advantages. We are largely ignored by the Capitol as long as we produce our coal quotas.

"Do you get all the coal you want?" Rue asks.

"No," I answer. "Just what we buy and whatever we track in on our boots."

"They feed us a bit extra during harvest, so that people can keep going longer," says Rue..

"Don't you have to be in school?" I ask.

"Not during harvest. Everyone works then," says stuns me. I guess to feed all of Panem you would need every last hand. In school they refer to Eleven as the largest district, that's all. No actual figures on the population. But those kids we see on camera waiting for the reaping each year, they can't be but a sampling of the ones who actually live here. What do they do? Have preliminary drawings? Pick the winners ahead of time and make sure they're in the crowd? How exactly did Rue end up on that stage with nothing but the wind offering to take her place?

It's interesting, hearing about her life. We have so little communication with anyone outside our district. If we were anywhere else but here, there would be no way we would be having this conversation. I bet the Capitol would try and stop us now if they knew, because even though the information seems harmless, they don't want people in different districts to know about one another.

**Rue:**  
>The windows of the Training Center let in too much light for so early in the morning. I squint at the breakfast table and grope my way towards a roll. Thresh lumbers into the room and sits heavily into a chair. Without a word, he begins to eat. Seeder and Chaff are just as reserved, staring into their respective cups of coffee and munching sleepily on food. Apparently, none of us are big talkers.<p>

Goldie click-clacks her way into the room and yanks us all out of our quiet stupor. She places the bright yellow schedule for the day onto the table, and we all glare her way. Unperturbed, she yammers on. "Today's the second day of training, dear, dear tributes!" I bet she's forgotten our names already. "We have a lot of very very very important things to do, so let's not be late! Very important!"

"Why does she feel the need to repeat everything?" Seeder mutters to Chaff.

"She probably thinks we're too stupid to understand her," he says back. "Either that or she just likes to hear herself talk." Seeder snorts and I can't help but let out a little giggle.

Half an hour later, Thresh and I have been stuffed into the elevator and on our way to Atala. He glances over at me as I finger Papa's necklace. "How're you doing?" I look at him in confusion. He motions in the general direction of the Training Center and I realize that he's asking about yesterday's session.

"I'm okay. I'm used to climbing trees so..." I trail off as I remember that he'll be a potential opponent in my near future. He doesn't appear to feel the need to continue, and so he just nods politely, silently acknowledging the fact that maybe it's better to stay silent. Just like at home.

Finally, the elevator reaches the Training Center and the glass doors hiss open. Thresh gets out first and I follow behind. Most of the other tributes have already gathered. The Careers have already grouped themselves together and the others have arranged themselves around them. I see Prim standing near her fellow district tribute and start making my way towards them. She spots me and gives a quick grin. "Did you have a nice sleep?" I nod and look curiously at the boy next to her.

"This is Ash. We're both from the Seam," she explains. I remember back to our conversation from the day before and I nod in his direction. He cautiously returns the motion. Prim gives him an encouraging smile and he visibly warms towards me. Prim is our common link, and I really hope she'll never leave the two of us alone together. I can't imagine what I would say or what I would do. "I'm Rue," I say, and Ash offers me a smile as Atala announces the start of the second training day.

The Careers shoulder their way to the front and are the first to walk into the gymnasium. The rest of us trickle in after them and Ash leaves to do his own thing. "What do you want to do first?" I'm relieved as Prim takes the leap and indicates that she wants to train together again. I was afraid I would have to ask her.

"How about we try out some weapons today?" I suggest. Prim agrees and we head towards a station stocked with smaller weaponry than the ones the Careers are practicing with. The trainer is a tall woman who introduces herself as Andromeda and immediately starts determining what weapon would suit us best.

"Both of you have very small builds, but you don't look as weak or malnourished as some of the others. It's no wonder they all die immediately after they enter the arena!" Astonished, Prim and I gape at her. A Capitol citizen showing concern for the tributes? But after a moment she continues, oblivious to our shock. "Any of you have prior experience? With anything?"

"I can work a slingshot decently," I offer tentatively. Andromeda nods and looks expectantly at Prim. She smiles shyly and shakes her head.

"Okay, why don't you try out the selection of slingshots over there while I find something suited for her. There's lots of different ammunition, from stones and arrows to shards of glass and metal." I nod and head in the direction she pointed at while she guides Prim over to the other side of the station. I look at the dozens of types of slingshots they have out. My hand-made and well-worn slingshot back in Eleven can't compare with these. In fact, I can see some that have enhancements in them, like heat-tracking ones and others that can have the speed or direction of the ammunition adjusted. I settle on a simple, yet elegant slingshot. Its body is made from sturdy oak wood in a dark brown, almost black color. The bands are flexible and durable, and the pocket can hold many different kinds of projectiles. The best part is that the slingshot can even shoot arrows. I practice with it for a while and then reluctantly put it back onto the rack. I'd probably make my own in the Games anyways.

I turn around and look for Prim. I've been lost in my own world while practicing with the slingshots. A boy from Seven has joined us at the station and I see another girl throwing knives in the corner. She's good, but definitely not of Career level. With a start, I recognize her as Prim and quickly make my way over. She's so focused that she almost doesn't notice me at first. I tap her shoulder and she whirls around.

"Wow! Why didn't you tell me you were this good at knives?"

"I didn't know! Andromeda had me trying out a bunch of things. Darts, stilettos, daggers, but I have the best aim and launch for knives. Katniss would've been so proud of me!" Prim explains excitedly.

I don't know who Katniss is, and the confusion must show on my face, because Prim quickly says, "She's my older sister. And my role model." A look of longing flashes on her face, one I know well. The bell sounds, signaling lunchtime and we all start filing back into the dining room. Prim and I go back to our table in the back and we pile our plates high with food. I dig into my fish, which the attendant called smoked salmon, and relish the flavor. We never get seafood in Eleven.

"Tell me more about your family," I say as I finish up on the salmon and start on little bread puffs that taste like magic. Prim's eyes light up.

"Well, there's my mother and Katniss, and my adorable cat, Buttercup. Oh, and Lady, my goat." she says, spooning soup into her mouth. "My father...died in a mine explosion five years ago. We had a hard time after that but Katniss kept us going. She made sure Mother and I were fed and sheltered and after a while it got easier to deal with...you know."

I stay quiet for a moment, not sure how to respond to that. Then Prim brightens up and makes a visible effort to drive the conversation back to cheerier topics. "What about your family?"

"I have a really big family. It's pretty common in Eleven. They usually encourage big families—it increases the number of workers. I'm the oldest of six. Brooke's the next oldest out of them, then comes the twins, Aero and Fletcher. My sister Tessa is five, and finally there's baby Sadie." I let out a little sigh; I miss them so much. Prim has a look of delight and she mentions that she's always wanted a younger sibling to look after.

We exchange a few stories back and forth about our parents and our sisters and brothers. I recall the time Brooke got stuck in a tree and I had to coax her down. Prim in return tells me about the time Katniss tried to teach her how to climb trees unsuccessfully. But then the bell chimes again, calling us back to the Training Center. After a few more hours of practice at different stations, it's time to go back to our own floors. Prim and I part ways and I ride the elevator back with Thresh in exhausted silence.

On the third day of training, they start to call us out of lunch for our private sessions with the Gamemakers. District by district, first the boy, then the girl tribute. Tributes go in order of district: boy then girl. We linger in the dining room, unsure where else to go. No one comes back once they have left. As the room empties, the fall into a terse silence.

I slowly look sideways and make eye contact with Prim. She looks just as scared as I feel, but after a few moments, we both relax a bit. I want to grab her hand, but resist since I'm afraid it might make me look weak in front of the other tributes. A while later, Thresh is called in. He gives me a little awkward pat on the shoulder and then makes his way through the doors and is out of sight. I take a shaky deep breath. The seconds tick by, then the minutes. Finally, I am signaled to go in. I hear Prim whisper fiercely, "Good luck, Rue!", and then the doors close behind me. All sound from the outside is swallowed up.

I take a peek at the Gamemakers' table. Twenty or so men and women dressed in deep purple robes. Sometimes they consulted with the trainers during our meals. They sit in the elevated stands that surround the gymnasium, sometimes wandering about to watch us, jotting down notes, other times eating at the endless banquet that has been set for them, ignoring the lot of us. But right now, they are relaxed, some drunk. None of them are focused on me.

This lessens the pressure slightly and I walk to the climbing station. I take several breaths, clench and unclench my hands, and then I am off. I climb like I've never climbed before, leaping and jumping and reaching out wildly for handholds and footholds that are barely there. In no time at all, I have completed the course and I know that it's my best time record ever. I steal another peek at the Gamemakers. A few are looking at me with mild interest now, but it's still lukewarm at best.

I walk over to the edible plants section and start identifying. I go as fast as I dare and when I am done, one Gamemaker walks slowly over, taking his time, and checks on my work. I wait with breath held as he glances at the plants cursorily and then strides back to his colleagues to report on how well I did. There still hasn't been any signal for me to leave, so I look around and decide to maybe show off some slingshot skills. I've successfully shot maybe three or four stones and exactly one shard of metal at a dummy when another Gamemaker calls out that I am dismissed. I lay down the slingshot and hurry towards the exit, but I know their attention's already shifted to the next tribute coming in.

**Prim:**  
>They summoned Ash and now I sit, fidgeting and alone. After about fifteen minutes, they call my name. I smooth my hair, set my shoulders back, and walk into the gymnasium. But instantly, I know I'm in trouble. They've been here too long, the Gamemakers. Sat through twenty-three other demonstrations. Had too much to wine, most of them. Want more than anything to go home. There's nothing I can do but continue with my nearly nonexistent plan.<p>

I head straight to the plant station and project in as loud of a voice as I can everything I know about plants. After a few minutes I realize none of them are listening and so I go for something flashier. I grab a handful of small knives from the table and move to the center of the room. I take careful aim at a dummy across the room and throw. It sticks solidly, but not as centered as I had hoped. I throw four more at the dummy in rapid succession and they form a slightly crooked line down the center of the body. _Thank you, Andromeda. _A few Gamemakers are now nodding approval, but the majority of them are fixated on a roast pig that has just arrived at their banquet table.

I'm furious. My life is on the line yet they don't even have the decency to pay attention to me. I'm being upstaged by a dead pig. Taking a deep breath I go for something even flashier, desperate for a good score. I analyze the ropes course carefully, then grab another knife and clench it between my teeth as I begin to climb. I reach a fake log and pause to catch my breath. A few more Gamemakers are watching me now. _Good_, I think to myself. I stand up shakily, clutching the ropes as if my life depended on it. And it kind of does. I take the knife and take meticulous aim at a rope across the course. It misses by several inches and I flush deeply. I wanted it to sever the rope and I would come swinging down gracefully, landing on my feet, of course. I guess it was too much to ask for. Luckily, it embeds itself in the wall behind the course. Maybe the Gamemakers will think that was on purpose. Trying to hold back my tears, I scramble back down the ropes, leaping the last seven feet or so and do a little roll like one of the instructors showed me. I turn to the Gamemakers and announce as sweetly as I can manage given the blood pounding in my ears, "That's all." I'm about to leave when I decide to add, sarcastically, "Thank you for your consideration." Katniss would be proud.

I've just managed to reach the elevators when I can't hold it in any longer and burst into tears.


End file.
